Misconceptions
by lx-Kisa-xl
Summary: Slash. One-sided pairings, KylexStan, KennyxKyle, KennyxButters, ButtersxCartman. -Bunny, Style, kyan, kxk for the searchers- I'm not gonna tell you what the ending pairings will be. :3 Actual summary: Kenny's not the badass he used to be. 'Nuff said.
1. Prologue

_Okay, I haven't submitted anything for South Park before. Bear with me, here, cause it's probably going to be a bumpy, crappy ride. On another note, I've never done something from someone's POV rather than plain old third person, so I dunno how well it'll flow. Please just read, enjoy, and comment on how I can make it better. I don't know how long it'll be, but here's the... uh, prologue. -Smile face-_

**Monday.**

"Hey Kenny." He says, not even really looking over. His hands are shoved in his coat pockets again, his hat pulled low over his forehead. It doesn't help conceal his wild hair though; some still manages to stick out here and there. I grumble a reply, taking note that Stan isn't at the bus stop yet.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Now it's Kyle's turn to grunt, as annoyed as I was by the listless greeting. I take another drag on my cheap cigarette and sigh as I exhale, watching the cloud of smoke rise and dissipate into the frigid morning air. Even if I hadn't been smoking, my breath still would have made a cloud. Part of being alive, and of course, I appreciate that state of being more than your average sixteen year old.

"We aren't LIKE that, Kenny. Stan has a girlfriend." He answers too quickly, and part of his wording is evasive. I wonder if even he notices it sometimes.

"You don't."

"...I'm in between crushes at the moment."

This perks my interest. "Oh really?"

"Yes really. You know, you shouldn't smoke at all, dude, let alone here. You're underage; people will see. Plus knowing you, you'll get lung cancer and die."

"Would it matter?"

Clearly, it could not. Kyle doesn't even bother to answer me; he's spotted Stan, who is jogging up, red faced. I glance over just in time to see him light up like a Christmas tree. _Not a fag, my ass,_ I think. It doesn't make anything any better.

The others join us, stepping into their usual positions and bickering like they do every day. I note, without much interest, that Butters has done Cartman's math homework for him again as he hands it over with a blush and a smile.

Not much has changed in our little group over the last seven years. Well, our number went from four to five permanently, somewhere in seventh grade, it was inevitable that we'd cut Butters a break sooner or later. Besides, he makes a nice balance to the giant, walking asshole that is Cartman.

We dress a little differently, sure, and well, once we're at school we all go our separate ways. Kyle to his AP classes, Stan to all the sports stuff. Butters at least, joins me in Home Ec. I swear to god, I'm never getting near a belt sander on purpose again. Besides, I still like how easy it is to hit on chicks in those girl classes. Or I did, until recently. The last few weeks, I've been leaning in more... academic directions.

After all, I've got to find something I can have in common with him that Stan never will.

I don't know when it started to happen, exactly. One day I'm my normal, trash-talking, perverted self. The next, I'm stuttering and falling over myself, trying not to look stupid at times when shit like that never mattered before. I'm jealous, impatient, more self-conscious than anyone ever thought I could be. It's like I've turned into Butters. A pouty, touchy-feely Butters who would give anything to be a Stan instead.

Because I am in love with Kyle Broflovski.


	2. He doesn't need you anymore

Crazy shit happens here in South Park all the time, sure. People die, get taken away by aliens, go insane and start talking to plants.. but it never seems to matter. I should be happy, I guess. I can add to the weirdness of this place by getting splattered against a wall or something now and then and still participate in the story line. I have to, apparently, or things wouldn't really be going 'back to normal' after the insanity subsides for a while.

I don't think that's true at all.

No, it's probably that Satan's too annoyed with me to do all the paperwork. Not that I mind being sent back from heaven and all the marker-sniffing Mormons, but well... Hell isn't that bad. It's warm at least, and I have a few friends there too. And sometimes I think just settling into one dimension or the other and just STAYING for a while wouldn't be bad at all. Like that time in Fourth Grade, where I had that muscular disease or whatever. It was a pain in the ass to have to waste away like that- getting decapitated is SO much easier- but then again, I got a couple months' vacation when it was over.

It's Hell on my schoolwork though, even though the...occurrences of my deaths have become a little more infrequent. I'd say any more I die a couple of times a month; I just kind of wish I knew when it could happen so I could get caught up or ahead first. And teachers don't usually take the notes my older brother writes to cover the absences too seriously. "Sorry Kenny couldn't be in school, he was dead" doesn't even seem to fly in a fucked up place like this.

The school bus pulls up; I think I'm relieved. Sighing, I take a moment to crush my butt out on the ground and follow the others up those same old narrow stairs, flinching away from the new bus driver- Mrs Crabtree has been dead for a long time, but no matter who they try to get to replace the one and only driver in South Park, they always greet with a "SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!!"

Must be part of their orientation.

I take the driver's advice today and slip into the seat Butters already occupies, which immediately starts to make him flustered. I pretend not to notice, but whoa, he's wringing his hands and the whole nine yards, blushing and looking from me to Cartman, who's just slipping onto the bus and back.

"Aw, gosh Kenny... Eric'll be awful sore if he doesn't have a place to sit..." Clearly, it doesn't matter whether I do or not, and I sigh. To get up and try to find another place to sit, or not... to do that stuff. There isn't really a question. I slouch down in the seat, crossing my arms, and glare at the backs of Stan and Kyle's heads. "Kenny, pleeeease..." Butters whines, but it is too late. I almost feel sorry for the kid.

Cartman isn't quite like he used to be. He's still a little on the heavy side, sure, and unpleasant.. but not to the extreme he used to be. I'm not sure quite when it happened, but sometime last year he started to really change- in some ways, at least. Where Butters would have been his last choice even a year ago, but still his only choice, he now simply shrugs and sits down with Patty Nelson. I smirk in the depths of my orange hoodie, but the look falls away when I hear Butters... sniffle?

Sitting up more, I turn to look at him. Bugging people about issues that aren't at all my problem might be a better way to pass the bus ride then willing feelings of love into that green ushanka or wishing STAN would be the one to die, for once.

"What's that face for?" I ask, poking Butters in the chest. He flinches away dramatically, and I roll my eyes.

"N-nuthin..." He says, crossing his arms like I had a moment before. But as he turns his head to the window I think I see his lip wobble.

"He doesn't need you anymore, right?" I ask, and he acts like I've burned him or something again. If there's one thing that has always come naturally to me, it's reading people's feelings and shit. N-not that I'm some kind of pussy, and usually that does me more harm than good- like, I hate being able to see all the gooey, mushy lurve in Kyle's eyes when he looks at Stan. Now though, it kind of helps.

"He hasn't used me for anything but math homework in a week!" He cries suddenly, and it's hard to ask why that could possibly be a bad thing, but I know the humor will be lost on the poor kid. Besides, I get it. Misery loves company, but not quite that much.

"He's just getting used to not being so unpopular." I offered. "But you know, I think he really likes you. I'm sure..." My eyes drift to Kyle, but snap back to the sniffly boy at my side, "I'm sure that once he gets his fill of it he'll realize who his real friends are. And then he'll be back over at your house all the time, eating all your food and treating you like shit if you'll let him." I offer. It kinda of turns my stomach to see how much an idea like that seems to help.

"Yeah!" He says, brightening up into a smile, "I bet you're right, Kenny!"

I hope I'm not, but I reluctantly hug him back all the same, then look away quickly again. There's only one person I wouldn't mind looking like a fag for, and his eyes are green, not honey brown. Sorry, Butters.

* * *

_Mkay, I made a chapter. This thing apparently comes in little bursts. **Very** little bursts.  
I think I might switch POV's and go with Stan or Kahl, since they're both getting like ignored here. That a good idea? Anyone?  
:3 Please review; I hope you liked it._


	3. It would matter

_Whooo, chapter. I stuck with Kenny, just cause... I dunno, he's selfish and only seeing things from his point of view is going to make the story more screwed up. Which I think is good.  
nn;  
Maybe I'll do Kyle on "Tuesday." :3

* * *

_

I'm pretty sure I'm happy when the bus slams to a halt outside the back of the school, across from the student lot, even though everyone who wasn't paying attention is thrown against the back of the seat in front of them, and today that includes me. I groan when I fall back again, rubbing my forehead where it connected with the metal bar before me, and for some reason I'm a little surprised when Butters clears his throat, impatient "Ta get to studyin', of course." By this I'm pretty sure he means he's going to follow Cartman and whatever little slut he's seeing while she walks the fatass to his locker. Sooo gay of them, of all of them. Every last one. But I guess being a hypocrite makes me an ass-rammer too. Or that could be the boner I get from a certain set of freckles lately.

Stan and Kyle are already off by the time I shake some sense back into myself, knowing I'm going to have a goose-egg on my hairline. Those were the reason god made drawstrings on sweatshirts, though, right? I pull them down and though my sweatshirt isn't quite as good as my old parka, I feel better with it cinched down tight. It keeps my expression of gratitude hidden when I see that yes, the love-birds waited for me to get off.

"Why'd you take so long getting off, Kenny?" Stan asks, waving at Butters, who darts off nervously with hardly a nod, in 'stalker' mode or something.

"Giving Butters a hard time." I muffle out, just a touch moody.

"Poor thing." Kyle isn't talking about me, but then I didn't tell him I wanged my face. At least it's hard to tell I'm glaring when I hide my face like this. I kind of step between them, hoping I can have the redhead more to myself while we walk inside. I know Stan doesn't mean to offend me, or snub me, or anything like that, and I'm not surprised when he just swings around to the other side to be by Kyle anyhow. It's not an insult to me, he's just in love with the redhead, too. Somehow that thought doesn't fill me with sunshine and rainbows.

Freshman year, we tried to take some of our classes together. The school doesn't offer AP _everything_ to sate Kyle's...burning need for knowledge or whatever, so we can at least all get together now and then. But we're still drifting apart. At first we all took PE and some stupid painting class Kyle wanted together. That was last fall, and none of us argued. He would have just pouted for a week if we wanted to take different electives while he had to go do the painting thing alone. Stan, being the 'leader' and all, said he thought painting was a wonderful choice and signed right up. Not wanting to be left out of it after that, Cartman, Butters and I all grudgingly followed suit. Compared to this, it turned out to be a better time than we all thought, so I had to give Kyle some credit.

Now, things are a little more serious. I don't know what possessed me to sign up for the Psychology class with them this semester, hating tough classes as I do, but it was probably that new, unhealthy obsession with Kyle I've been harboring. Since I wasn't taking any other advanced classes really, it has been by default the hardest course I've committed myself to so far. I just hope that if I still like him next semester, I don't try joining him in chem or anything. I know I wouldn't hack it, and I don't want to embarrass myself quite that badly- I'm just not smart like he is.

Despite the different schedules we've all had to endure since high school started, we still have a little block of lockers, all snug up together. It's almost inconvenient, since we bump into each other a lot going through them, but I wouldn't want something simple like that to change. It's a good excuse for meeting up between classes, sometimes, and well... maybe I get a little lonely.

There's always lunch, and I always did have another group of friends- the stoners, the losers, the juvenile delinquents.. but this semester I've kind of ditched them. You can't be good enough at something to know you need a certain redhead's help if you never make it to class, after all, and that...other group of kids spends most of their days in the sound room above the auditorium. Smoking pot, having sex, sleeping.. It was all good fun, until I suddenly found myself actually wanting to graduate.

Sighing, I head inside with the dynamic duo, figuring at least I get to walk next to Kyle today. I used to always be Stan's left hand man. But does he notice the change in my positioning? I look over, trying to be subtle before I remember that subtlety is neither important, nor my strong suit. They're both deep in conversation over some new TV show. I 'wouldn't understand,' of course, because the only TV I'm exposed to is at friends' houses, and we usually have better things to do than sit and stare blankly at a screen together. Unless, of course, it's Cartman's house and it's just me and him- this has been known to happen, but I wouldn't be quick to admit it to anyone around here, just like Cartman wouldn't want to tell anyone he liked hanging out with the poor kid.

We reach the lockers and those two are still at it, talking away. I make a show of sighing and rolling my eyes while I work my locker combination, but it's only after Stan skips off to his first-thing-in-the-morning, fuckin' right out of bed weight-lifting class that Kyle turns to me. My throat constricts the second I notice he's finally looking, and I make a tiny choking sound.

"I-is something wrong, Ken?" He asks uncertainly as I dump most of my books on a shelf in my locker and grab an old, beaten binder.

"What do you mean?" I ask stupidly, as if it isn't what I wanted to hear for the last week or so. As if I haven't been trying my damndest to make him notice I was changing, or trying to. For him. "I'm fine." I promise, though I can't make the assurance too convincing and I don't try. I'm soaking up his company, his momentarily undivided attention.

He's quiet, for a while, looking at me. Even though my hood is pulled tight and obscuring most of my face, I feel it heat up. Do I have something hanging out of my nose, or what?

"It would matter." He says softly. I blink.

"What would?" Now the stupidity isn't as much an act, because he can't be going back to what we were talking about before Stan showed up earlier..but he is.

"It would matter if you went and got yourself...dead again." He says, and his eyes drop for a minute. "So don't say shit like that, huh?"

Suddenly, my eyes are burning, and I don't know whether I'm guilty or happy or pissed off all over again. Right now, I might be everything at once. "I... I'll try to quit smoking then." I say lamely, and his hand shoots out to squeeze my shoulder in a quick gesture of affection. My heart skips a beat and I hope I don't pass out and die now or something. It would make Kyle feel guilty, I'm suddenly sure. Because if we aren't anything else, we're definitely friends. He cares about me.

Now it's easier to look at him; I smile and meet his eyes, he returns the expression. The bell rings too soon.

"Oh." He says, blinking as if he's just woken up. "Gotta get to class. See ya, dude." And he turns, hurrying that perfect little ass of his off to calculus, or wherever it is that he's going. I, of course, watch appreciatively before sinking back against the lockers with a bit of a sigh.

"Bye, Kyle." I mutter, though he's already long gone. Then, gathering my thoughts and books again, I head off to class like a good boy.

* * *

_Whoo, another chapter. It's even a teeeny bit longer.  
I wanted to be a fruit-nut and hold this thing hostage for reviews, but since it's not some amazing update or anything, I'm going ahead and posting it.  
I hope you enjoy it. Soon it should be getting a little more interesting. -Vague smile-_


	4. I think he has a girlfriend

**A/N: Okay, so this chapter is shorter than I wanted. It's just, well, I'm kinda building up to the good part: Tuesday. The start of that one should be a pretty good chunk of work, and I'll try to get it up quickly to make up for this one being so... bleh. Bear with me, please. Also, review, huh?**

**Who thinks Kenny's even gonna get a chance? What pairings do you want to see more hints and bits of? Am I keeping it interesting enough? Is it more or less in-character? These burning questions need some answers so I can be confidant in what I put out. Like... confidant enough to spend enough of my time writing the next chapter to make it, say, long enough to double the word count of the fic. -Wink wink-**

**At any rate, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Do something with me tonight." Somehow I had made it through all my classes without being sent to the principle's office even once. I had actually gone to all of them, I had been quiet and withdrawn eating lunch with the usual guys, I'd been a good boy. But something inside me breaks when I spot Kyle waiting out in front of the building, hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. I have to finally say something, or make the opportunity to say something. Kyle is never alone, it seems, so this chance is a golden one.

"I can't." He says automatically, glaring at the cement. I wait for him to say something about Stan, but he surprises me.

"My parents are out of town for the week, so I have to go straight home today. I have to take care of my little shit brother."

"Can I come?" I ask shamelessly, giving him one of my winning smiles. My hood is loose enough at the moment that Kyle even catches a glimpse of it; I've long since recovered from the embarrassment of the lump adorning my forehead. But he just shakes his head sadly. Well, at least he doesn't laugh.

"Sorry, dude. Ike would _'tell'_ if I had anyone over."

Something tries to catch my interest in something he's saying, like an idea that I can't quite get my grubby fingers around. I frown, looking off into the distance and trying to work my mind around it. Something, something important. Something that could help a guy like me out right about now. "Oh, well... I'm sorry." I finally say, my response falling flat in the cold autumn air. I've failed again, but it isn't like that's news to anyone.

He looks up at me and smiles as the wind picks up, making him reach a hand up to keep his old green hat in place. Suddenly, my own smile isn't forced, even if I can never win. Because even if he doesn't want me, he sees me. That's more than I'll get from a majority of the world.

"It's cool, dude. Maybe after my parents come back?" He asks haltingly, like it's just to make me feel better. That's the way I see it, at least. It'll never be just the two of us, not on purpose. Some of my hopelessness from before returns.

I frown. "Wait, if you've gotta watch Ike, why are you here?"

"Ah," He says, looking bashful, "I have to walk him home. He's inside, apparently doing a couple of things. I think he has a girlfriend."

"Like, a highschool girl girlfriend??" Ike was something like eleven or twelve, I thought, and it didn't matter how many grades he skipped. To me, Ike would always be a little kid. The thought of him dating someone about four or more years older than he was creeped me out, but then, that had always been his type. Kyle confirms with a nod.

There's a comfortable silence then, and I look around at how fast everything changes.

School hasn't been on that long, but the trees are already bare, and you can actually taste winter on your tongue.. assuming you're a mouth-breather like Clyde. A few remnants of what were once brightly colored leaves blow around the parking lot- they've long since changed from green, to red or gold, to a colorless, more-than-dead sort of gray-brown. Yep, everything dies but me.

I look at Kyle, his hair a little more tame than it was when we were kids. He's still a tough little fucker, he's still Stan's little soulmate. He still fights with Eric Cartman like it's some big important thing. I assume he never learned to 'take it like water off a duck's back' or whatever that old phrase. His bouts of pissiness suit him, so I'm not too sad about that.

He interrupts the creepy whirring sound the wind is making between the flagpole and the school building with a heavy sigh.

"Are you okay?" I hear myself asking, and he nods.

"Yeah, I just... get tired sometimes."

'Me too,' I want to tell him. There's a lot I want to tell him. I might have even let the words pass my lips if Ike hadn't chosen that exact moment to come flopping up, breathless and flushed. Yep, a girlfriend, I decide.

"Okay, well..." He says once he and Ike finish a quick discussion(argument?)- on whether to walk home the long way so Ike can get some chicken mcnuggets at the South Park McDonalds or some shit. "I'll...see you later Kenny."

Is it just me, or does he say that too much?

* * *

So I spend my night alone. Not out of pure lack of options for people to bother or mooch money from, and not because I'm running my own one-man pity party. No, I decide to do the mature thing and work on my term paper for English. Just don't tell anyone. Once I get my rough draft squared away, maybe I can even get Kyle to proofread it. A man can dream, can't he?

Actually, all in all I feel pretty good about the evening. I mean, sure I didn't get to see Kyle, and I was lame enough that I didn't want to be around anyone else, but, to use yet another cliche, there's always tomorrow. This should help me sleep, and surprisingly, it does. In fact, my mental exhaustion over figuring out how to make MS Word judge my paper's draft to be above a sixth grade reading level in the spellchecker stats is enough to make me pass out the second my head hits the pillow. This would be something nice, since I'm unaccustomed to having an easy time sleeping, except it's not. Like clockwork, I wake up a little over seven hours after I closed my eyes. That makes it, oh, five o'clock in the morning when I roll over and start rubbing my face.

Just what I need. A full two hours before I can even go to wait at the bus stop and see Kyle.


	5. Company?

**Tuesday**

I stall for as long as I possibly can. I take a long shower- cold of course, so I have to assume either someone was up before me using all the hot water or it got turned off again, and well it wouldn't be the first time. I pick through what clean clothes I have for a while, and finally pull on a black t-shirt that says "Every Saint has a Past" on the front. The back says "Every Sinner has a Future." The words always make me smile, even today; I like to believe it's true. As usual, I look at myself in the mirror for a while, from my messy, still-wet blonde hair to my dirty-looking socks, eyes lingering on the words across my chest even though I'm hopeless at reading backwards, until I feel too lame to keep looking.

Then I pull on my usual orange hoodie and zip it up, grab my beaten up bag and trudge out into the cold. No one's at the bus stop, but then I figured I'd be first. Who wants to wait around a half hour?

...Kyle does, apparently. It's only a few minutes before I catch sight of him a block or so down, coming out to join me. I push myself up from where I'd been crouching on the ground, throw down the cigarette I'd been nursing on, and stomp it out. Then I watch him come, thoughtful. He kind of looks pissed off, but I'm not sure why.

"You're here early." He says before I can open my mouth. I nod dumbly in response. "I'm always here first." He says, and yeah, he's definitely pissed off about something.

"Uh, sorry. I couldn't sleep any more, and my... uh yeah." Sighing, I look away. I know he's watching me.

"Doesn't matter dude. I'm sorry, my mom was just lecturing me about colleges again. I'm a little pissed off." I nod at this, looking at my feet. Sheila would piss me off too. "I mean, she's such a BITCH." He exclaims, and suddenly he has my whole and undivided attention. I stare, and he flushes. "I-I mean, she's pressuring me to pick a Jewish school. This morning she was waving pamphlets in my face and saying I should go to school in Israel.. which makes _no _sense because last week she was in overbearing mode and wanted me to go in Denver..."

"Well, where do _you_ want to go?" I ask when he trails off, eager for him to keep talking. He hasn't noticed me watching his face with flushed fascination, imagining his angry energy put to other uses.

"I don't _know_, dude! I don't even want to think about it yet... but I guess, wherever Stan's-"

"Oh." This time, I interrupt him. He stares at me. "Uh, well.. I mean that makes sense." Usually I like talking with Kyle alone, having rare moments where he's paying attention to me, but now I just feel uncomfortable.

"Yeah..." He says slowly, after a long pause. He's still searching my face, like he's looking for what I really meant, but there's no way I'm getting into that. I resist the urge to try and close up my hood so he can't see me. It's fucking hard.

Suddenly, I'm saved. Stan's coming, and Kyle turns before the other even says a word, automatically knowing it's him. That makes me so fucking jealous, especially with how Kyle lights up just talking to him. And once again, I'm forgotten. Of course, part of me understands why; the two of them are super best friends, and if Kyle was gay for _anyone _it'd be Mr. All-American over there. I feel kind of sick, so I look away.

A few other kids gather after another fifteen minutes or so and we all wait for the bus. Most of the others are talking amongst themselves, hands in pockets or holding straps of backpacks. For some reason, Cartman hasn't showed up by the time the bus screeches to a stop, but I can tell no one else even noticed, and I can't say I'm flooded with concern for the fat boy. We all get on the bus before the driver can leave us out of spite, and I fall into the seat by Butters again.

"Gosh, Kenny. You look glum this morning." Butters greets me. Who the fuck uses words like that? Butters, that's who... really it's kind of cute. Cute like a lost kitten maybe, or a teddy bear. Cute, as in almost sickeningly so.

I sigh. "I guess maybe I am."

"Well, what's wrong?"

"..I don't want to talk about it."

"Did your mom and dad have a fight?"

"NO, Butters." I snap. He flinches a little, and I suddenly feel bad. "No." I say more calmly.

"Okay..." He says, and I can tell he's trying not to sound hurt by my short fuse. "If you ever need to talk to someone, you know, you can talk to me." He offers.

"I'm sorry..." I say, unsure why I'm bothering to apologize.

"It's okay." He says without even considering. That kid is too fucking nice. It kind of pisses me off all over again. "I know you didn't mean it, Kenny."

"..Yeah." I return my attention to the two in front of me and try to hear what they're saying. The bus is loud, and they're leaned in close to each other so they can still talk softly. I start to grind my teeth without even realizing it, and by the time the bus finally stops, I'm too pissed off to want anything to do with Stan or Kyle. I don't care what they're talking about, or that it's hard to turn around without the bus driver screaming, so including me wasn't an option. Because I know that they will always be closer to than I could ever hope to be with anyone. I'm so jealous I can't see straight!

At least today I brace myself for the impact of the stop outside the school doors. Sighing, I wait for the other kids to stampede off the bus before I get going, hands shoved in my pockets.

"Hurry up and get off!" The driver shouts at me. I respond with my middle finger and think for a moment of Craig. He isn't such a bad guy either, he's just too pissed off and uptight. Shaking my head I jump down the steps and catch up with Kyle and Stan, but only for a moment. I can't do this today! I don't want to do _any _of it anymore.

It's a moment before the pair of them notice I've stopped walking. "What's wrong, Kenny?" Stan asks.

"Nothing..." I answer defensively. "I... I'm gonna stay outside and have a quick smoke." I supply quickly.

"Okay, cool." Kyle answers this time. "See you in class then." It pisses me off how fast they just nod and leave me standing there, but I suppose it's normal. Turning, I plop down on the curb, trying to decide where to hang out while I'm ditching.

* * *

The other kids filter inside. The bell is going to ring soon, and I still haven't figured out what I want to do. It's actually been a long time since I've done this. Amazing, right? But I figure there's no way to be smart enough for Kyle if I skip every other day. Well, I _figured_. I'm starting to think nothing will matter, that he'll never notice me the way I want him to.

And just as I'm thinking maybe I should give up and try to forget about the whole thing before I ruin all of our friendships, a hand falls on my shoulder.

"You're gonna be late, dude.. what are you still doing out here?"

My heart stops, or seems to. I guess if it's really quitting, I'll be dying on the spot or whatever. I don't.

"I'm... I'm not going today." I said slowly.

"But... but you've been doing so well lately!"

I want to sink into the concrete and hide. "I know. I'm just.. I'm just stressed. I need to have some time alone."

There's a long pause. "...So... you wouldn't want company?"

_a/n:  
Yes, I didn't make it totally obvious who that is, there at the end. That's on purpose. This chapter isn't as long as I wanted, but... well, oh well. **Read and review** please._


	6. So, this is all there is to it?

OMFG an update! I know it's been **FOREVER**, but I wanted to write something, and BC3 inspired me indirectly. So whatever. I hope you like it!

OH OH.  
So like, I like to draw shit. Someone tell me what they'd most like to see on my DA, which I'm about to go link to on my profile. xDD

_1. Kenny batting his eyes and saying, "I can't make love to you until we get a king-sized bed!"_

_2. Ike and Butters sporting Hello Kitty panties that match._

_3. Ike hugging his legs and hiding his face, with girly white panties around his knees._

...XD; I'll probably draw all of it anyhow, and there's a story to the sad!Ike one, but... just tell me in your comments what you want first... if it matters to ya. nwn

**------**

Kyle Broflovski would NEVER skip a class. I just heard him wrong, that's all.

"What?"

"I said, 'so then, you don't want company?' Something like that." The Jew responds, for some reason flustered for all of two seconds. "I-I mean, as long as... uh..." Shaking his head, he falls silent.

"Are you saying... you'd ditch with me?" I ask, in awe and still disbelieving.

"....Just once couldn't hurt, right? I can tell you need a friend, dude."

I melt right there on the curb. "You might get in trouble." I say uncertainly, shifting to get up and out of my private pity-party.

"I... I know. But like I said, once shouldn't... be..." He trails off, his pine-green orbs boring through my little half-hearted front and into my soul. No, it only feels that way; he doesn't suddenly know about the boner I have for him or anything. "Where to? W-we should get out of here before the teachers or someone.. you know, stops us."

It seems he has made up his mind, but all I can do is stand there, mouth slightly agape. I pull out my pack of smokes, remember what Kyle said before, and put it away again, fumbling, awkward. "My house? My parents are probably passed out anyhow." I explain, a little uncomfortable.

Kyle continues to watch me with that scary, excessively attentive expression, and I try not to hide. I want to be, well, a man for him. Something like that. Stan sure as hell qualifies as a man.

"Only if we stop for brain freezes on the way. And dude.. thanks for putting it away." He finally offers with a sigh, followed by tiny smile.

A stupid grin takes me over and I nod, encouraged. "I'll even treat you." I promise, and somewhere in the back of my mind I get off on the idea of this mini-date, even though I'm sure it won't do any good. Partly, I'm just amazed Kyle isn't calling Stan on his cell to make sure he doesn't get all mushy and worried. For once, he doesn't seem to be thinking about that asshole at all. He nods, smiling back.

And we go.

--------

We make the trip from the schoolyard to my place quickly enough. I manage to impress Kyle- at least I think I might be impressing him- when I automatically pick him something sugar-free with the freezy machine. At any rate, he gave me a smile that would have been worth walking in front of a city bus on purpose to earn, and can't summon the concentration to argue as I pay for it like I said I would. Maybe the situation isn't entirely hopeless. Maybe somehow I can figure out what it takes to earn that smile he saves for someone else... someday...

As impressed as Kyle was for my smooth acquisition of our frozen treats, I'm even more pleased with his reaction to my shit-hole of a house. Sure, all my friends are used to the constant state of filth and disarray in which I dwell, the peeled wallpaper and the stains, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke and sometimes sex, but that doesn't mean they ever come over if there's any other option present.

Kyle doesn't say anything when I let us in the front door. He doesn't gag, he doesn't stare at my parents, who, like I suggested they would be, are passed out on the lumpy living room couch. He doesn't so much as wrinkle that perfect nose of his, with it's slight bump and all of three light freckles. He just stands there, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his drink cup, and sips on it, watching me.

"Your room?" He asks around the straw, and I nod.

Together we trudge down the hall, past the sleeping dog on the floor and my brother's open bedroom door, and I let him go in first.

My room is a little different than the rest of the house, though the poor quality of the building can't be helped. My bed is made, at least, and the worn carpet is bare of...debris. I have a couple of posters tacked up, and a little clutter on the desk, but well, it's...

"It's clean." Kyle says, interrupting my thoughts. Too bad he doesn't know half the reason I keep it that way. Though it's for my benefit too; I never expected to get Kyle in here alone. Today I've done the equivalent to winning the lottery. And my English paper is even sitting out! Shit, if Kyle was some chick I was trying to pick up, I could perform flawlessly, and probably have her out of her pants in five minutes or less; that's what I'm technically best at.

But this is Kyle.

I love him, or at least I'm pretty fucking sure that's what this is. I grunt something agreeable to the observation and turn to find my iPod, the only thing I own with any real value. "Want to listen to music or something?" I ask, voice tighter than I meant it to be. Why am I so fucking nervous?

"Sure, dude. Do you have a dock for that or anything?"

I don't.

Flushing in embarrassment, I shake my head. How can I possibly be screwing this up? Then Kyle, proving himself worthy of my affection yet again, just shrugs, moving over to my bed and sitting down on the edge, rumpling the comforter a little. Christ, he looks good there.

"We can just share the ear buds," He suggests, patting a spot to his side with a smile around his straw.

"Jesus," I hear myself say.

"E...excuse me?" He asks, all formal. The cute little bastard.

"Nothing, I just... you know, feel a little lame." It's not even that big of an iPod, only eight gigs or something, but hey, it's more music than I could ever afford to add to it. Cartman lets me use his computer sometimes, and from that my small library has grown.

"Oh, okay... well, come on." He says, patting the bed again. I stumble over and plop down, making him bounce. It's hard for anyone to be skinnier than I am, since I don't exactly eat well. Obviously, Kyle has managed it, because when I sit, he bounces a little, his own cheeks flushing. I wonder if he's self-conscious as I hand him one of the ear buds. They aren't stretched too far apart from each other, so we'll be getting nice and cozy. I try not to panic as my palms begin to get clammy.

"Any requests?" I ask as he tucks some brilliant red curls behind his ear, his hat already off. When did that even happen? Did I lose some time there? Black out?

Sticking the ear bud in the cradle of his ear he shrugs one shoulder, watching me. "I haven't talked to you that much lately, have I? How about whatever you're into right now?" He suggests, sticking his feet out in front of him before letting them dangle again.

"I.. alright." Waiting a minute as I scroll through my music list, I take a gamble. "Don't make fun of me, okay?" I ask seriously, glancing up.

"I'll try." He agrees with a formal little nod, leaning back on his hands and watching me with an arched eyebrow.

Catching my breath, but trying not to be too obvious about it, I throw caution to the wind and put on my special playlist, the one I made just thinking about him.

Brighter Than Sunshine is first, by Aqualung. Sighing lightly, I scoot closer to him and slip the other bud into my ear. "Lay back," I instruct, our legs hanging off the bed freely from the knee. To my slight surprise he nods, and we carefully maneuver backward until we're lying side by side, arms and knees touching just a bit. I stare at the ceiling, my iPod in the hand that's almost touching Kyle's, and wait.

There's nothing to worry about really, since as smart and thoughtful as Kyle can be, he's still oblivious to my...ugh, my feelings. No connections will be made; no conclusions drawn. No friendships ruined or made awkward.

"So, this is.. all there is to it?" He asks, sounding almost awestruck.

"What?"

"To skipping. I mean... it was so easy. I feel kinda bad about missing class, but... this is nice. You know, I didn't think this would be your kind of music..." He added, with that vague quality to his tone that I inwardly labeled as surprise, hopefully in a pleasant way.

"Y-yeah, pretty much, this is it." I agree, distracted by wondering what would happen if I took his hand. If I just let the iPod fall to the bed and reached a little further...

I never thought of myself as that much of a pussy, but for the life of me, I just can't bring myself to try. There's something that's already special about these quiet moments to me, I just can't risk giving them up.

"Oh.... well... It's not bad." He offers belatedly, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, causing my blood to stand still in my veins.

He's watching me. Again.

"Kyle...." I breathe, but can't go on. I'm watching back now, and our faces are so _close_.

He doesn't even respond; obviously he knows I had nothing else to say. The music fades, and the next song comes on, this even more pitiful. James Blunt, "You're Beautiful."

Kyle blinks, and a grin slowly spreads over his face. I blink stupidly, terrified. "What?"

"Oh, nothing... you just.. there's only one reason for a guy like you to have crap like this on his iPod. You totally have an actual, gay little crush on someone, don't you?"


	7. Exactly

_So like, OMGWTF more update when I haven't had **ONE SINGLE REVIEW**?  
Yeah. I'm inspired right now. Though... a few reviews at least would be appreciated.  
Even if you only tell me whether or not you like it, I'll be happy._

_

* * *

  
_

Of course, my violent reaction confirms the accusation beyond any shadow of doubt. I sit up, pulling the cord on the iPod's earbuds, and Kyle makes a little sound of discomfort as the rounded plastic piece is ripped from his ear. "No!" I cry, for once a terrible liar. The blotchy color that has risen on my cheeks doesn't help at all.

"Dude, chill. It's cute." Kyle reassures effortlessly. There's a terrible pause and he watches me, finally shrugging a shoulder at length. He seems to really be thinking about something, but I could never have expected what comes out of his mouth next. "It... I have like, the biggest boner in the world for Stan, you know that, don't you?"

Shocked, all I can manage is a weak nod. It still bothers me to hear, me, Kenny McCormick, the town slut who never feels possessive over anyone else, who ditches at the first indication anyone might be wanting a real relationship. And god, right now I fucking hate one of my best friends. If it wasn't for Stan-

He cuts my thoughts off with a kiss, that, like a retard I jerk away from after less than two seconds. "Ky...le?" I ask stupidly, staring, my brain completely melted.

"What?" He asks, and suddenly his eyes are burning into mine, intense. When I don't say anything, he pushes himself up an inch or two on his hands and swings his hips forward, closing all the space between us. "You know, I have a thing for the smell of your stupid cancer sticks. I don't love you or anything, man, but if you want me..." He trails off, lacking the balls to finish what he started. I don't help, my brain has frozen like a computer that's downloaded too much porn or something. He clears his throat, blushing and adorable, and continues at last. "Well, I'm not the type to just use anyone, but you're Kenny. I mean, you just plain like screwing around, right? So.. so screw around with me." He requests, those piercing green eyes sending simultaneous excitement and discomfort coursing through my veins.

"But Kyle, I..." I start, but I can't say anything; I'm too scared he'll leave. This might be my only chance. Then something that might be worse slips out. "Why?"

"I've been waiting on Captain Asshole for... what, three or four fucking years now. I'm tired, Kenny, so tired." He scoots closer.

"He gave it away so long ago, and he still can't tell that all I want is to have him plow me into a bed or a counter or the ground..whatever. I... God Kenny, I just don't want to feel so undesirable anymore..." He whispered, eyes finally falling away.

"Is that wrong?" Obviously, his pure little heart was hurting almost as much as mine, but as usual, not for me.

No one even thinks I have feelings, I suspect, but just now I overlook it like I always do. In fact, I even hear myself offering what reassurance I can, though it's not my strong point. I draw Kyle into my arms, not sure where to put my hands on him, and sigh. "Kyle, you're.. you're not undesirable or any of that shit. You're great. You're perfect. You're probably too good for anyone in this town." I didn't mention that that especially meant me; if he didn't know how bad my boner for him was I wouldn't make it worse for myself.

"He'll figure it out eventually, but by then I... I hope he's too late and he hates himself for missing his chance." I say with a little more malice than I'd meant.

Kyle shudders and shakes his head. "It'll never be too late for him to decide it's...to decide it's love or whatever." He admits, twisting the daggar in my chest.

"So you just want to fuck or something?" I ask, a little colder than I expected the words to sound. Kyle blushes, never having been the one to be so crude.

"I...yeah." He says slowly, draping his arms around my waist and biting his lip. "If it's not too much... if... if it's alright. I know you want me; I've been avoiding you since I figured it out."

"...Ha, what tipped you off?"

"Well mostly, when you thought I wasn't paying attention, I kept catching you staring. And it's not like I'm not attracted to you or something... I could tell when I felt something when we touched, that you felt it too..."

I can't believe he noticed these little things; it leaves me feeling so conflicted. Should I insist it's more than physical? But Kyle's so wrapped up in the imaginary idea of the perfect guy, who is certainly not me, that he might change his mand about messing around at all. "Kyle..." I start, and this time I interrupt myself to crash my lips into his, taking the opening when he gasps in surprise to force my tongue into his mouth. At first he resists, probably fighting with his damn morals again, but then he returns the gesture haltingly, clumsy with lack of any experience. I can't believe Stan the idiot hasn't bitten off a piece of this already; it's like heaven, willing or not.

He pulls away, breathing only slightly unsteady, and stares into my eyes. "Kenny... s-should we put on music or anything?" He asks, naive. It's adorable.

"Whatever you want, baby." I tell him, reverting to my normal sex mindset, no matter how difficult it is. That's the Kenny he thinks he wants, anyhow. Leaning over without letting go of him, I hit the sleep button on my shitty alarm clock radio radio, and my wakeup music blares through the cheap speakers. Something by Saliva, it's my rock station. What I used to listen to more than anything else, before... no.

Shoving my unwanted opinions and feelings down somewhere toward the pit of my stomach, I run my fingers through curly red hair. "Does that work?" I purr, not looking him right in the eye. I can tell he's uncertain just by the way his body feels in my hands, but I've pressured people into going past their comfort zone before. I've never taken anyone who was entirely unwilling, but I've done more convincing than I should have needed to do for things that really shouldn't have happened. I've always been shameless, consumed by what catched my eye. But this is different, this is Kyle, and I **_need_** him. Pulling him closer, I line up our hips and push against his groin with my own.

Since I've closed my eyes at the friction, I only hear Kyle's sharp intake of breath and feel his body tense up, his cock stirring despite the fact that I know he never really meant to go through with it.

"Kenny, I think ma--"

"Shh, it's okay... I'll take care of you." I wasn't going to give him a chance to say no. Opening my eyes again I start to pull his sweater up over his head. I know he's staring at me, but I can't look back, not now.

"Kenny..." He tries again, a note of warning to his face.

"Yeah, I was just thinking that. I've got it." I say and lean to turn the music up a little louder. That way if he starts to cry or anything and my sister is awake, she won't hear him. God, I'm sick.

Pulling the sweater off over Kyle's head, which he doesn't fight, I toss it aside.

"No, I meant---aahn...." Finally, he quit being a little whining bitch. All it took was a flick of my tongue to one of his small, rose tinted nipples. He tastes so **_good_**!

"Kyle..." I moan, unbuckling his belt and pulling it away from his stuffy khakis with a hiss of leather on fabric. "I'm going to make your first time something worth remembering..."

Flushing despite himself as I flip him over and pin him, once again he just allows it. "Shit." He responds, breathless.

"Nah, I'm not into that." I say with a smirk, my mouth descending on his neck to start the games off by claiming him.

At first when my teeth attach to his pale skin he turns his head to one side, then the other, making a discontented sound that melts into one of enjoyment. "Kenny," he whines, "Someone will s-s-see that...."

"Exactly."


End file.
